THE CRASH by ELSZY
by Elszy
Summary: "The moment Dorian was out of sight, John sank bank onto the ground. Dorian might be convinced John was only slightly harmed, he himself wasn't so sure of that. His leg hurt, his head hurt and he was almost certain he had a fractured rib, maybe even two..."
1. Chapter 1

_Hi, this is a new story about our favorite Almost Human heroes. Comments, reviews and pm-s are more than welcome, and the very thing that keeps me writing. _

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Pt 1

With a little click and a soft buzz Dorian's system rebooted itself and as soon as the energy revived him, he opened his eyes and sat up straight, only to smack his head hard against an overhanging, thick tree branch.

Not equipped with pain nerves, Dorian just checked the top of his head for damage. No holes, no cracks, no tears. Good. All of sudden reality hit him and the time frame before the safety shutdown kicked in, was loaded into his memory banks.

'John?' He pushed himself up on his hands and immediately toppled over. What the…

His electronic brain told him he was functioning properly, with only little damage to some chips and an in- and outport. But for the rest, Dorian appeared to pretty complete.

_Appeared_ indeed. The synthetic man held out his arms in surprise.

His right hand was gone, severed at the joint. Bits and pieces hung from the stump where only minutes ago his hand had been. Thick, purple lubricant dripped slowly from the inside of the digital arm onto the leaves he sat on. At regular intervals blue and bright white flashes of light lit up the ends of the wires.

Fascinated, Dorian looked at his left hand and the space where his right hand should be, with a strange, detached feeling. His eyes told him clearly his hand had been ripped off and was gone, but his brain unit hadn't processed that information yet and kept sending signals to move his fingers. In fact, he answered to that urge with his left hand, and was certain he did the same with the other.

Was this what humans called _phantom_ pain? Was this what John experienced? Did he feel warmth, cold, pain, an itch, fatigue in a limb that didn't exist because his brain couldn't process the new status? Was it a physical defect rather than mental resistance? Did John…

John!

Distracted by this new situation, he had almost forgotten about John, but now it fully hit him.

'John? Where are you? John? Are you alright?' He raised his voice, got to his feet and began to shove aside branches, undergrowth and wildly growing shrubbery. 'John? Talk to me man! Where are you? Can you hear me? John?'

An eerie, cracking sound overhead made Dorian look up. Above him, wedged between branches of an enormous, old tree, sat the remains of the helicopter, which rocked slowly in the wind. A broken rotor hung in another tree, plexiglass, metal, foam and straps of the leather seats and fragments of the interior where scattered all over the forest. The mossy ground was littered with debris.

'John! Are you up there?' He called out. There was no answer. He looked at the broken screen of the cockpit. Smears of blood stuck to the inside of the plexiglass. He could not see John still in the helicopter, so he must assume that his partner had been thrown out - just like he was. Dorian had landed almost directly under the wreckage.

The helicopter could come down and crash into the ground any moment. It wasn't stuck very tightly and the tree branches weren't all that sturdy, plus a number of them had already broken by the crash. The sooner Dorian found John or the prisoner, the better. Even he, an android, would not survive standing under _that_ when it came down.

'John! John! JOHN!'

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_to be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks for the encouragement! Here's part two…_

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Pt 2

John had landed on a thick wad of undefinable plants and wild, prickly bushes. The upper half of his body was hidden from view, his legs stuck into the air like the antennas of an insect, when Dorian finally found him. He clambered over the branches. 'John? John! Can you hear me?'

Still, no answer. The detective was out cold.

Dorian put his fingers in John's neck, searched for the pulse and in the meantime, ran a health check. Apart from numerous superficial cuts and bruises, John's readings were okay.

'Come on, John, wake up,' Dorian tried and carefully shook him by the shoulder. He patted his partner's face and lifted his head a little. 'John? Can you hear me?'

He thought he saw John's eyelids flutter.

'Yes, that's it. Come on. Wake up, man.'

According to his scan, John had only minor injuries, but a gash behind his ear was deep and nasty and it bled, forming a pattern of dark spots on the leaves below him. Maybe that blow to the head knocked him out. The minuscule movement in his face was a short-lived one. It didn't show again.

Dorian tried again to wake him up, but still John remained in the same, unresponsive state. Although one of the rules of First Aid was to not move the victim, Dorian decided otherwise. Lying the way he did could hardly be comfortable, so the android removed what branches and sticks where in the way, and then lifted John from his precarious position.

That went wrong, as Dorian's brain kept telling him that he could use both hands. The moment he picked John off the branches, the detective instantly slipped away from his grip. Dorian realized to his horror that he had no grip at all on John's torso, that only his left hand firmly held on to the crook of John's knees, but that he could not prevent his partner from tilting to one side, sliding off the arm that picked him up.

Dorian made a rapid move to get himself and John balanced again, but couldn't prevent falling backwards while holding on to the lax, heavy figure in his arms. He pressed his right arm hard against John's body, drew him close, and curled his back to roll as agile as possible onto the mossy forest ground and onto safety.

Their fall yielded an unexpected result - a groan from John and a pair of brown-grey-green eyes that opened. Confused, John blinked, at first unable to focus. Dorian bowed over him, and touched his face with his fingertips.

'John? Can you hear me?'

'… gawd… 'at 'appened…?'

'The helicopter crashed. You were thrown out,' Dorian explained and watched as John pushed himself to a sitting position. He moaned and was clearly not feeling well. Dorian imagined waking up from unconsciousness brought that about, so he waited patiently for John to get his wits together.

The dark-haired detective touched the cut behind his ear and winced, then he looked at his leg. HIs dark jeans were soaked in blood, a tear revealed underlying, raw flesh.

'Don't worry,' said Dorian. 'I ran a full check on you. You are alright. You're injuries are superficial only.'

'Doesn't feel like it,' John said with a voice that was deep with discomfort. 'Look at my leg. It needs a banda— where's Escott?'

'Unknown,' replied Dorian. 'I have not been able to find him.'

'Damn. You checked the wreckage?'

'I did. There are no life signs in the remains of the helicopter.'

'The pilot?'

'I am sorry, John. Bob Jamieson is dead,' Dorian said. Bob Jamieson was the first victim he found - the pilot had broken his neck. Rave Escott, the prisoner John and he were escorting, had either taken off or he had been thrown out of the helicopter as well and landed somewhere outside Dorian's search grid.

'Where… what's happened to your hand? Are you alright?' It wasn't until now that John noticed Dorian's missing hand.

'I am fine, John. Thank you. My hand is missing and I have not found it yet. How does your leg feel? Is it functioning properly?' Dorian frowned at John's reluctance to stand up. Usually, his partner wasn't very squeamish but now he didn't appear eager to get to his feet.

'I think so,' John said and moved his synthetic leg, then nodded. 'Yes, that seems to work as it always does. I need a bandage for my leg, and then we must make a plan.'

'A plan? Regulations dictate that we stay as close to the wreck as possible, increasing the likelihood of a rescue party finding us.' Dorian tore off his right sleeve and kneeled to help John dress the wound, only to find that he couldn't do much with one hand.

John did it himself. He grunted when he pulled a tight knot in the fabric, which obviously hurt.

'Is it painful?' Dorian inquired.

'I'm okay,' John said curtly, which Dorian took as a reprimand for invading his personal space. 'Listen, Dorian. How long have we been here? How long have I been out?'

'Between the moment of the crash and your awakening 37 minutes and 54 seconds have passed,' Dorian replied.

John rubbed his forehead, let his hand go over the sore spot behind his ear and shivered. Dorian imagined he must feel the soft edges of the torn flesh under his fingertips. He lowered his bloodied hand onto his lap. 'If Escott is unharmed, he has a head start of half an hour. That's bad.'

'Do you want me to find him? I did a quick search but have not expanded the grid when I found you.'

'How far can you get in the same amount of time?'

Dorian did the math. 'If Escott walks, it will take me fifteen to twenty minutes to catch up with him. If he runs it might take approximately eight to ten minutes longer.'

'So you're able to get him in, let's say, half an hour?'

'Provided I can pick up his trail,' Dorian nodded.

'Which I know you can and will. Go, get him and bring him back here.'

'What will you do?'

John's hands trembled a little, so he made quick fists and apparently hoped Dorian hadn't noticed. 'My head hurts and my leg will slow you down. I'll stay here.'

Of course Dorian had seen it, but he chose not to push. Apparently John needed more time to get his strength back. He did look pale and it was clear he wasn't feeling well. That surprised Dorian, since his scan had not revealed any severe injuries. Maybe the blow to his head had taken a bit more of John's resilience than Dorian expected.

'Okay. You rest while I find Escott. I'll be as quick as possible.'

The android turned on his heels but John stopped him before he could take off. 'Dorian? Did you send out a mayday?'

'I have, John, but I haven't had a response yet. We might be too far away from The City.'

'Can't you access a satellite and have it relay your call?' John suggested.

For a second, Dorian was exasperated, which didn't often happen. 'I'm a DRN, not a satellite engineer. I have no means to access any such a device. Neither my hardware nor my software are equipped for that kind of work.'

John let out a frustrated sigh and again ran a hand over his forehead. 'Alright, it was just a thought. You better go. Have you got your weapon?'

'Yes,' said Dorian and patted the gun he had holstered. 'Are you sure I can leave you alone?'

'Yeah, I'll manage. Dorian?'

'What?'

'Be careful. There are minefields out there. One hand missing is enough for today,' John's voice was thoughtful and Dorian understood that the carefully chosen words were uttered out of worry.

'I will be. Thank you for the warning.'

Not much later Dorian spotted trampled undergrowth, picked up the trail and in seconds he had left John far behind.

_to be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

_And on we go… thank you for following, favoriting and reviewing. Very nice! _

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Pt 3

The moment Dorian was out of sight, John sank bank onto the ground. Dorian might be convinced the detective was only slightly harmed, he himself wasn't so sure of that. His leg hurt, his head hurt and he was almost certain he had a fractured rib, maybe even two. The pressure on his chest hindered him and he had to take shallow breaths to keep himself in check. For crying out loud, how could Dorian have missed this?

He closed his eyes for a few seconds. _Don't go to sleep, John. Don't sleep. Don't sleep!_

He didn't. He gathered his courage and sat up again. Danger was lurking behind every tree and every bush, so he had to be prepared. It took him a lot of effort to get to his feet and when he finally stood, he had to hold on to a tree.

_Wait. Just wait for it to subside. Take it easy._

When he felt he could continue, he slowly scanned his surroundings. The helicopter hung like a big, broken dragonfly in a tree, about twenty meters up ahead. He wondered if he'd flown all the way through the air to land here or if Dorian had moved him to this spot. If so, that was good thinking. The wreckage didn't look like it would hang there for much longer.

Dorian said protocol stated they'd stay as close to the wreck as possible, but John knew for a fact that in this case, protocol was just a pain in the ass and no help at all. He had the distinct feeling they had crashed in Sievert Forest, far away from The City, in the vast wasteland beyond the Wall, somewhere between two cities. No one came here unless they were ordered to or well paid for.

The job had been a straight forward one. He and Dorian had to take convicted felon Rave Escott to Parker's Correctional Facility, which was about a two hour flight by helicopter. Deliver the prisoner to PCF, sign the papers and be back before nightfall. A walk in the park. Yeah, right. But it turned out very different. As far he could tell, a walk in enemy territory seemed a much more likely scenario.

The Wall shielded The City from those who wanted to get in or get out. Rioting gangs, anarchistic splinters cells, guerilla's, self-appointed militia groups - there was no telling what kinds of crazy folks were roaming these woods. Next to that, other dangers, far less controllable, awaited. There were area's where the ground was so polluted, that it could lead to almost instant poisoning, or - which was even creepier - you could pick up a kind of toxic bug that settled itself into your body and slowly consumed your flesh from the inside out. John had warned Dorian about the minefields, but there were also marshes with swamp gash. The whole area was one big graveyard, a disaster waiting to happen and only with a lot of luck, John and Dorian would make it home.

Now that Dorian was gone, John felt even worse. On top of his physical malaise he felt lost without Dorian, lonely and very, very vulnerable. He was injured, no matter what Dorian's readings said, and he knew all too well he wouldn't be able to react fast enough if the shit hit the fan.

Not _if._

_When _it would happen.

Because it would, of that he was sure.

He stood still for a few minutes and listened carefully. Despite the odds, birds had apparently found a home in the trees, a rabbit hopped by and a few squirrels jumped from one branch onto another. The wind rustled the leaves in the trees and flecks of afternoon sunlight sparkled over the forest ground. In fact, it was deceivingly peaceful. He staggered on, searching the debris for a bottle of water, which he had spotted aboard the helicopter. He was very thirsty and damned - the pain in his chest got worse.

After rummaging around for a while, he saw something glistening between the bushes and when he investigated it, he noticed it was a small stream of water. It looked surprisingly clear and when he sniffed the air, he smelled fresh water. He stood near the creek and licked his dry lips. _John, don't do it_, he told himself. _Anything can live in that water and it's not safe._

The water was crystal clear, pebbles covered the creek's bottom. Little fish bobbed gently in the slight current - they looked perfectly harmless. The plants that grew on either side were green and lush, very idyllic. All in all hardly a nightmarish image.

Maybe he could wash his hands. That wouldn't harm, he told himself, so John carefully stepped towards the creek, squatted down and dipped a hand in the water. It was cold and it felt good. He washed both hands as good as was possible without soap and rubbed them together to get the sticky blood off. His common sense told him he shouldn't drink it, although it was very tempting. It was hard to imagine that this clear water could hide killer bacteria, but he wasn't going to take any risk, despite his thirst.

If he made one false move, a stab of pain shot through him, so he went about his business carefully. Slowly he got up again while he pressed his arm around the painful right side of his chest. _O man… _Everything began to swirl around him and he had to sit down on a rock to let the dizziness subside. _Damn, damn, damn!_ He felt hopelessly useless like this.

And then he spotted something up ahead in the water. What was that? Did he see that correctly? He stood up, took a few steps to the left and craned his neck to get a better look. Yup. There could be no mistake. A bit further, on the bottom of the creek lay… Dorian's hand.

For a second John stood in deep thought, looking at the hand as if he was observing an ordinary rock in the water, while thinking if it was worth while to get it out. Did Dorian perform differently with only one––

_John! Damned, what are you thinking? Of course you need to get it out. _John shook himself inwardly. What kind of stupid thought was that?

He took off his boots and socks, rolled up his jeans and lowered himself from the creek's waterside until he could put one foot in the water. It was his synthetic one and he didn't notice the temperature change, until his put down his other foot. Crap, that was cold. Of course he had noticed the cold when he rinsed his hands, but standing in it barefoot was a different feeling. Besides, the water was a bit deeper here than where he just sat.

He waded a few steps through the water, which reached up to a few inches under his knees. Good thing it wasn't deeper, or he wouldn't have seen the hand at all. He reached for the hand, bend down and picked it up from the creek bottom. Definitely Dorian's, his partner would be… _ooooh…_

Everything began to turn like a blurry, green, sparkling merry-go-round.

He squeezed the synthetic hand as if that could give him the support he so desperately needed, but he lost his footing on the pebbles on the bottom. He slipped, fell and landed face down, with a splash in the creek. The water was so cold and the pressure on his already hurting ribcage so unexpected, that it knocked the wind out of him and he shrieked and gasped for air. His injured leg scraped across a rock, and he swore with a mouth full of water when the sensitive spot came in contact with the stone. Struggling, John push himself up and stumbled to the waterside, out of the creek.

He dropped Dorian's hand on the ground and sank to his knees, soaked to the bone.

Damn, damn, damn! That was all he needed!

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_...to be continued..._


	4. Chapter 4

_Thanks all for the reactions. Nice to know that work is appreciated! Here's part 4…_

Pt 4

It didn't take Dorian long to pick up Escott's trace. To Dorian's skilled eyes, a bulldozer could have been rolling through the forest. Broken twigs, trampled grass and bend undergrowth were easy to find. Dorian didn't see signs of blood, so he figured that Escott had come out of the crash fairly unscathed. He picked up his pace. Escott was a cold blooded murderer, sentenced for four killings and John had told Dorian Escott had a lot more where that came but which was never proven. No matter what, he could not get away and if it was up to Dorian, he wouldn't. The man had killed a mother and her two little children in their house, because he had been in an ongoing conflict about a money loan with the husband. It was pure vindictiveness, brutal and terribly sad. It hurt Dorian to see the little children, twin boys, only three years old, on the crime scene photos. Escott was a savage and a lifetime behind bars at Parker's Correctional Facility was the only just and fair punishment.

So Dorian was pretty keen on finding him and after about twenty-five minutes he slowed down when he saw Escott. The man was standing perfectly still in the middle of a wide path. Dorian took out his gun. 'Freeze, Escott. You are under arrest. Put your hands in the air, turned around and move over here.'

But Escott didn't turn. He put his hands out to the side but stayed exactly where he was.

'Turn around slowly, Escott.'

'I can't. I've stepped on a mine or something.'

Dorian immediately stopped in his tracks. John warned him about minefields and now Escott had walked straight into one. Dorian scanned the ground and discovered more, strewn over the path like pinecones but effectively hidden from human eyesight.

'Help me,' said Escott.

'I will try to disarm the mine. Do not move,' Dorian said to the man's back.

'I'm not going anywhere. You're a synthetic, you can disable it, right?'

Dorian didn't like being called a synthetic. Android, DRN or artificial life form had a much better sound to it. However, he understood that circumstances weren't ideal for proper bedside manners and he didn't blame Escott for being rude. He didn't answer but searched his data banks for information about anti personnel mines. He quickly found what he was looking for.

'I am coming over to you. Do exactly as I say.'

'Yeah. Hurry. I'm cramping up here,' said Escott.

With updated information Dorian could see the mines perfectly alright, their tiny primers sticking out of the ground like little beacons. He crossed the fifty-four meters quickly and carefully. It was miracle Escott hadn't stepped on a mine earlier, he had passed at least six more and missed one by a hair. Once Dorian reached Escott, he kneeled down and brushed away the dirt that covered the device. He recognized the type, found the information on how to disarm it, and quickly made his moves. It was an old type of mine, it wasn't difficult at all to disable it, even with only one hand – a few current jolts left and right and the job was done. The soft buzz in the mine died and Dorian knew he'd done the trick.

'It's done. Turn around, Escott. You are under arrest.'

'Is this a minefield? Are there more?' Escott asked, still reluctant to turn around. His tensed shoulders and slightly shaking hands told Dorian he had been standing there for a while and he was still scared that the thing might blow up. It was then that he realized that Escott was wearing a vest. Was that John's?

'Yes. If you follow my footsteps, you will be fine. You can turn around now.'

'Thank you.'

Escott pivoted with unexpected speed, in the same moment grabbed a gun which he apparently had ready under his vest and fired four rapid shots.

Dorian stood so close that the impact of the bullets send him flying through the air and he landed on his back in the dirt, amidst the many mines. Instantly he knew that at least one of Escott's bullets was a hit. Fluids began to spray from his side like a lawn sprinkler system.

'Sayonara! Thanks for the footprints!' Escott jumped exactly in the spots where Dorian had been and safely made his way out of the minefield. Dorian reached for his gun.

And failed.

He had no hand, no fingers. Just a stump that he couldn't use. Effortlessly, his non-present hand tried to pull the gun out of the holster. From where he was, Dorian could see Escott looking at him for a few seconds. Then the felon waved. 'Great job, Pinocchio. Maybe you get to be a real boy when you grow up.' He tapped an imaginary hat and took off as fast as he could.

… _to be continued …_


	5. Chapter 5

_Here's part 5. Enjoy!_

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Pt 5

If John had been able to, he would have taken the clothes off of the pilot and put them on. But Jamieson was a short, skinny guy and there was no way the overalls would fit. The air temperature was pleasant, but nevertheless John grew cold in his wet clothes, especially when he came into shaded areas. Also the wind was picking up and that too, was giving him chills.

Dorian had better be very thankful for this.

He took off his jacket and his shirt - an effort which left him dizzy and gasping for air. Gawd, that hurt. But he had to wring the water from the clothes or it would last even longer before they'd be dry. His tank top was wet too and he took a few painful breaths before he pulled that over his head. _Fuck..._ He checked his ribcage and looked at the largest, blackest, most vicious bruise he had ever had in his entire life. It looked as if he'd lost a gruesome fight in a boxing ring, and his opponent's gloves were filled with iron and ten times the normal size. Oh, Dorian was definitively wrong. This was bad, bad news.

Carefully John touched the bruise. Even that made him bite his lip. He rested for a moment on boulder. His breathing had become more labored - which was no wonder, considering this injury. Every time he took a breath, his ribcage expanded and even the slightest movement hurt. So breathing higher up in his chest was the only thing he could do to lessen the pain. That combined with the gash in his leg and the pain in his head wasn't making things better. John was _not_ a happy camper.

Insects were already feasting on his naked upper body so he wrung as much water as he could from the tank top and put it back on. He did the same with his shirt and jacket but hung them out to dry in the sun and the wind. His pants were wet too, but he left them on. No way he was going to stand here in his underwear.

And now on to the next problem - he was thirsty, really thirsty. There had be something to drink in the rubble of the crash site. Where was the plastic bottle he had seen? Maybe there was a canteen, maybe Jamieson had brought a soda. Anything would do, even lukewarm coke. He needed fluids, and although he wasn't hungry, he had to eat too, to keep his strength up. Actually, the thought of eating made him a little nauseated so he focused on the search for fluids first.

Dorian had covered Jamieson's face with a rag he recovered from the debris. John walked over to the body and lifted the rag. Poor Bob. He was so young and his life was over in the blink of an eye. _I am sorry, buddy. This is not how it should end. _Jamieson hadn't even reached his thirties. So sad.

Respectfully, he covered Jamieson's face again. Reluctantly, John patted Jamieson's clothes and pockets, hoping to find useful things. A hip flask filled with whiskey would do just fine.

But of course, Jamieson's pockets were stashed with nothing of the kind. John discovered a pocket knife, a lighter and a half emptied package of cigarettes. He left the cigarettes but pocketed the knife and the lighter.

Slowly, far too slow to his liking, John searched the area. In the meantime, he wondered what caused the helicopter to crash. It was all rather blurry, but he recalled a popping sound and then the wild, fast and uncontrolled spiral downwards. The spinning, the loud noise of the helicopter rotors, screams and then…

… then he woke up and looked Dorian in the eyes.

He had to stop every few minutes to rest and catch his breath. The wind was picking up, the sun had disappeared behind clouds that grew darker, and John was getting colder by the minute. The clothes had hardly dried but he had to put them back on. Shivering, he continued to search for stuff that could be important or come in handy. Where was that damned bottle of water? Was there a First Aid kit? He'd chew down a handful of painkillers without water if he had to. If he could! And a decent bandage for his leg would be nice.

He licked his dry lips and shivered. Dorian had been away for quite some time now, and John hoped he would be back soon. He had the feeling he had turned over every leaf, every branch, every stick and every piece that was part of the helicopter. Nothing to drink, nothing to eat, nothing to replace his wet clothes. The First Aid kit was missing as well and John was so tired, so cold and so fed up with the whole situation, that he sank down under a tree, pulled his legs up, wrapped his arms around them and he waited shivering for Dorian to come back. His leg support system began to announce that the synthetic calibration was off.

Great. That was all he needed.

He felt miserable to the bone.

… _to be continued … _


	6. Chapter 6

_Thank you all for your encouragement! Our heroes are still struggling to keep head above water, so to speak._

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Pt 6

Dorian ran after Escott, keeping a sharp eye open for more unwelcoming surprises. Two of the bullets Escott had fired at him had been stopped by his breast plate but the two others had wreaked havoc in his lubrication vessel system. It caused serious leakage that rendered his left leg and his hip unusable. After taking a few steps the system froze and he found himself standing stock-still. Soft blue gel rapidly leaked out, his system had done a security lock down to avoid further inner damage. In normal circumstances Rudy would have done the honors, but now Dorian had to do the repairs himself.

That was easier said than done. Dorian was not a tech-bot and had to refer to troubleshooting data that he had never consulted before. Problem number two was that he no tools and could only improvise with what he found on the forest ground: little sticks and stone chips. The third issue was his missing hand. If anything _that _was the hardest thing of all. He felt utterly clumsy as he pressed his right arm against the leaking knot of veins in his torso while he tried to fix the damaged parts with the only hand he had.

More than anything he felt a rush of sympathy for John, who always had to deal with this. How _did_ the man cope with the dependency, with the deficiency? No wonder he could sometimes be so grumpy. It wasn't easy.

It took Dorian exactly one hour, 44 minutes and 5 seconds to mend his shot system. When he finally felt the fluids circulating again, he felt a sudden rush to find Rave Escott. He wouldn't get away. Even if he had - again - a head start of almost two hours on him. 

'Help! Hey! Hey! Help me!'

Dorian heard Escott's voice from afar. The forest was less thick here, and quite suddenly Dorian found himself at the edge of a endless field of heather, that went beyond the horizon. It wasn't the sort of purple heather that Dorian knew. This kind had an unattractive, yellowish color and reeked strongly of sulfur.

About a two kilometers into the heather field was Escott, looking like he sat on the ground.

Dorian came closer, his gun ready. He was not going to get surprised again, but once he was close enough he saw that Escott was not endangering him - he wasn't sitting on the ground, but he was stuck in a hole.

'Hey man! Help me out! I'm sinking!' The panic in Escott's voice was genuine and indeed he was. The harder he struggled, the faster he appeared to sink into a filthy colored mud. He tried to pull himself out of the hole by grabbing onto the heather and use that as a leverage, but it seemed brittle and simply broke in his grip, 'Help me! Help!'

Dorian approached him carefully. There were more patches like the one Escott had sunken into. He had seen puddles like these, but he hadn't realized it was a sort of quicksand.

'Am I glad to see you! Help me! Hurry, man! I'm going down fast!'

'Stop wiggling. You'll only speed up the process,' Dorian said calmly. He looked at the trapped man and the hole he was in. The yellowish grey mud bubbled in a sinister way. The smell of sulfur was stronger here.

'Get me out!' Escott screamed. 'Get me out of here!'

Dorian took a cautious step forward - this was nothing like a minefield. If he fell into it, he would die. There was no way he could escape a trap like that.

Escott thought Dorian hesitated. 'Hey man, I'm sorry for what just happened, but you can't blame me for trying, can you? I mean, I didn't mean to kill you or anything. It was just… you know…'

Suddenly John's face sprang to mind. _What _was he doing here? John needed him a lot more than this punk who called him a synthetic and Pinocchio and a robot and other very unfriendly names. Was there any reason to help this guy out? What would John do?

John would think it over and decide to let him sit there, Dorian thought. His basic synthetic soul software started an argument. He was designed to help people, not to let them die. Even it is was this horrible excuse for a human?

Yes, even then.

'Come on, man! Hurry!'

What caused it, Dorian didn't know, but a sudden urge made him very worried about John. It dawned on him that his partner had _not_ been well when he left him, and that his lack of witty replies and quips was perhaps the best indicator that something was wrong.

Why hadn't he seen it earlier? Why did he need this guy in the mud to make him realize that his partner was the one in trouble, not this piece of shit?

He had to act quickly. He dropped down on his belly and got as close to the hole as he could. By now Escott stood up to his armpits in the stinking mud, desperately holding his hands above its surface. Dorian reached out, grabbed Escott by his arm and began to pull.

'Aaaw! Stop, you stupid! You're pulling my arm off!' Escott screamed like a pig. The mud pulled just as hard at Escott as Dorian did. Escott coughed vehemently and slapped the mud in frustration. 'Get me out of this filthy shit!'

Dorian tried again, a little less fierce. Escott swore and cursed as very slowly, the mud gave way and let go of its prey. When Escott was finally freed, Dorian immediately pulled him to his feet so he stood on shaking legs covered in grey, slick goo next to him. The gun he had used on Dorian was gone.

'Shit, shit, shit!'

'Walk,' Dorian said and pushed Escott forward. 'Go.'

'Wait, man. Just give me a moment.'

'No. Walk.'

'Hey, man! I nearly drowned in that shit hole! Just let me get my breath!'

'Walk,' Dorian repeated. 'Now.' He grabbed Escott's arm and dragged him along. He took big steps and Escott, who was quite a bit shorter, could hardly keep up and stumbled and staggered on. Dorian wished he could cuff Escott, but he wasn't carrying any cuffs so he just held a tight grip on Escott's upper arm.

'Stupid bot! Will you slow down!' Escott swore when he tripped over a knot of heather and clumsily fell on his face. It went on and on and on: Escott tripping, Dorian dragging him to his feet, Escott calling Dorian names, swearing and cursing… fine specimen, this one was.

From one moment onto the other Dorian was fed up with the whining man next to him. 'You say one more word and I'll make sure you never speak again,' he said. Somehow that sounded a lot better when it came from John's lips, when he spoke in that low, slightly gritty voice he reserved for these kinds of situations. Dorian's polite voice just didn't seem to carry the same threat.

'Yeah right,' Escott scoffed after spitting bits of heather from his lips. 'You're a DRN-cop. You're designed to bring me in, in one piece. If there's the slightest proof of you harassing me, you'll be decommissioned.'

'Walk. Shut up.' Dorian said and pushed Escott on. This took far too long. The wind had picked up, the sun was gone, the temperature was dropping. There was a change in weather on the way. He needed to be back at the crash site before rain and the darkness set in. Dorian hoped the routine would be the standardized textbook one: their flight not showing up would trigger the alarm and the flight route from The City to Parker's Correctional Facility would be scanned using special search satellites. The homing beacon of the black box in the helicopter would be picked up and a rescue party would come flying in and get them out.

'I'm telling you,' Escott kept challenging Dorian, 'if you don't slow down, you piece of fucked up wires––'

Dorian gave Escott a push. A hard one. Escott flew through the air and landed like a rock in a pool, about ten meters to his right. He smacked onto the surface and instantly the liquid turned to a by now familiar grey goo that began to bubble and release gas that stank of rotten eggs.

'Noooo!' Escott screamed, his voice suddenly completely different. 'Not again!'

'I told you to be quiet,' Dorian said. 'You wouldn't listen. I have other things to do.'

'Don't leave me! Please! I'll be quiet!'

'Yes. You will be. Soon.'

Dorian might have thought that John was menacing, but his last words to Escott were enough to give the perp the creeps.

'Noooo! Nooooo! Come back!'

Dorian didn't and he didn't look back. He ran off. By the time he had reached the forest and the heather field was behind him, the surface of the sulfur pool was as quiet and smooth as it always had been.

_to be continued_


	7. Chapter 7

_Hi, sorry the update took a while. I'm really busy. But thanks all for your patience and the comments. Very rewarding!_

Pt 7

* * *

John was so cold that his teeth rattled and he couldn't stop shaking. He had curled up in a fetal position to try and preserve what little body warmth he had left. He held on to Dorian's hand as if it was the most valuable possession he had ever owned. It gave him some kind of comfort, although despair was slowly creeping up on him. Dorian had been gone for hours and hours - something must have happened. What if his partner didn't come back? What if Escott had nailed him? Or another scenario? There were gangs roaming areas behind The Wall, and Dorian could have been captured by one those.

_Stop it, John. Don't do this._ He tried to push the dark thoughts away.

Even through the haze of his misery John was aware of time passing, daylight fading and the darkness of the night setting in. And all the time he was so thirsty. If he'd have the courage, he would have stood up and headed back for the creek to drink but he just couldn't get himself up. He was too worn out, too cold, too sore, too dizzy.

As the hours passed, John drifted off but each time he woke up after a few minutes, scared from confusing dreams of the explosion that cost him his leg, disoriented from his surroundings, the lack of light and the overwhelming thirst. These nightmares catnaps offered him no rest at all. He was too cold to fall asleep and too exhausted and his body hurt too much not to.

* * *

The android ran the first kilometers, but that had resulted in another sprung vein that he had to fix, so after that he walked and he hadn't dared to increase his speed again. He would be no good to John if he malfunctioned and never made it back.

By the time Dorian arrived at the crash site, it was completely dark. There was no moon and the stars were hidden behind the clouds. It started to rain, softly. Dorian liked rain. The feeling of the drops on his skin was nice, made him feel alive. People often complained about rain and cold, but Dorian wasn't cold. Ever. He wore clothes to blend in and the pockets came in handy, but they weren't actually necessary. Dorian liked clothes, though. It made him feel more like a human. And he liked the touch of fabric and the sturdy, yet supple feeling of shoes.

'John?'

Where was he?

Dorian stopped in the very spot where he had left John. He turned around slowly, turned up his night vision a notch and called out again. 'John? John!'

And then he saw him, curled up, half rolled under a shrubbery.

In a few steps he was with him and sank down next to him. John's eyes were closed, his breath was short and shallow, he was shivering from head to toe. 'John?' With infinite care, he touched John's face. The man was cold as ice. And his clothes were wet. Very wet.

'John? Can you hear me?'

Dorian couldn't tell if John was fast asleep or if it was something else. He placed his fingertips in John's neck. Why the heck didn't his analysis scan work properly? Why couldn't he read John's vital signs the way he normally could?

'…D…d…dorian…'

'John!'

'…c…c…c…cold…'

Dorian upped his inner temperature and cupped John's face with his hands. No! Not _hands._ With his _one _hand. How could it be that he still felt as if he had two?!

'Man, you're sick,' he said, worried to his core.

'…thirs…ty…'

'I'm sorry John, there's nothing to drink here.'

'…y…y…your…readings…'re… off…'

'Yes. I know. I'm so sorry. I should have seen it.'

John's teeth rattled. '… where's Esc…c…c…ott?'

'Rave Escott is dead. How did you get so wet?'

'…w…w…went f…f…for a s…s…swim…'

'What?'

Dorian crawled next to John under the shelter of the overhanging leaves. 'We need to get your body temperature up. Take off that wet stuff.'

'…no…'

'I'll help you.'

'…no…l…l…lemme…'

'John! Your clothes are soaked. You need to get warm - now. You can wear my jacket, I don't need it. But it won't do you any good if you keep all that wet stuff on.'

John was hardly able to do what Dorian told him to. He sat up and Dorian helped him out of his jacket and his shirt, which was apparently very painful because John couldn't hide a grunt of pain. When Dorian wanted to help him lose the tank top, John pushed his hand away. _Enough_, his look said and Dorian decided not to insist.

After that he took off his jacket, made John put it on and then he carefully pulled John in an embrace, a position that clearly made the detective uncomfortable. John froze in Dorian's arms. He tried to pull back. '…D…what…'re…you…'

'Take it easy, my friend. You're too cold.'

The detective tensed. '…lemme…go…'

'No. Not until you're warmer. Relax, John.'

John mumbled unintelligible protests, but soon he turned quiet and despite his apparent embarrassment, Dorian could feel how John's muscles lost their tension.

_to be continued…_


	8. Chapter 8

_And another chapter. Dorian does a rash thing… again…_

Pt 8

* * *

Just when Dorian thought John was asleep, the detective mumbled: 'What took you so long?'

'Escott fired his gun at me. It damaged my fluid system, I couldn't move on and needed to repair that first.'

'You have a fluid system?'

'I do. It lubricates joints, conducts electricity and acts as a cooling device,' Dorian explained.

'Oh. Right. You're okay now?'

'Yes, John, I'm fine.' Dorian listened intently to John's voice. The torment and the exhaustion were apparent, even though John tried to hide it from his partner. Again, a long silence fell. John's breathing sounded a little less constricted and his teeth no longer chattered, but Dorian felt rather than he could analyze that all was not well with his friend.

The two sat in silence for a long time.

* * *

John had finally fallen asleep. At last. Dorian lowered him down ever so carefully, unzipped the jacket and softly lifted the damp fabric of his tank top. John had refused to take off his top, and now Dorian understood why. His partner had been hiding his injury from him. What he saw made him shudder. John's ribcage was one giant bruise, in a gruesome color spectrum that ran from dark red to deep black. Dorian couldn't analyze the bruise, but he knew that this was bad news. John had broken at least two ribs and it was more than likely that he suffered internal bleedings. The android put his hand very, very softly on the bruise, hoping the warmth might do it some good, but he knew it was a futile exercise. John needed a hospital. No wonder his breathing sounded so labored and he looked so terribly pale. His lips were chapped. He needed water.

_Hold on, John. Help is on the way,_ Dorian thought. _In the meantime, I will do whatever I can to make you as comfortable as possible._

While John slept, Dorian improvised with leaves and made a funnel to steer rainwater into a piece of headlight from the helicopter. It was broken and had some sharp edges, but it could contain water and although it wasn't raining hard, Dorian noticed to his pleasure that a small puddle was forming in the half sphere. It wasn't much yet, but it would get more and if John slept for a while, it might be enough to quench his thirst.

Dorian set up more such rainwater catchers. If it kept raining all night, there would be enough to get John through the night.

He looked up at the helicopter. He'd been through the stuff on the ground and he hadn't seen a first aid kit, although he was certain that it was part of the standard equipment in the helicopter. He knew the kit contained painkillers and other items that could be of help to John.

There must also be a blanket and that left him with only one option: climb up the tree and get the stuff out. Because if it wasn't in the debris on the ground, it still had to be in the helicopter.

To Dorian, climbing a tree itself was not a problem, but having only one hand at his disposal turned it into a different ballgame. He could jump the first two meters up from a standing position and grab a branch that was sturdy enough to carry his weight. But from there on, things got a bit more tricky. It was the first time in his life Dorian climbed a tree and he enjoyed the rough bark under his fingers a lot. Humans had so much to sense and to feel. How could you not love all the different textures, each sort telling the nature of its origin?

Dorian went up cautiously. He put a foot down on a branch that was not thick enough and that creaked dangerously under his weight, he took hold of another branch and nearly fell from the tree when it broke… It wasn't easy but deep inside Dorian thought _it was fun._ Mastering it all the way up to the helicopter gave Dorian a peculiar, satisfying sense of victory.

The tricky part was yet to come. Dorian was a fast learner and while climbing the tree, he began to see which branches could and which couldn't support him. The helicopter however had so many variables that Dorian hesitated when he had reached it. He hooked his arm around a branch, braced himself, hung forward and peered inside the remains of the helicopter. The devastation inside was enormous, yet a number of things still oddly hung in place. A bottle of water was the first thing Dorian saw and that made him very happy. It was wedged under the broken seat of the pilot, that was still half attached to the frame of the chopper.

Carefully he reached for the bottle and to his relief, he could grab it without difficulties. He looked down from where he was - if he dropped it, it might break, falling from this height, so he had to go down first, put the bottle on the ground and climb up again. Besides, he could bring it to John, in case he was awake, so he didn't hesitate and climbed down again.

John was still fast asleep, curled up the way Dorian left him. He did sound calmer but Dorian felt worry like a hot poker stabbing at him. His friend was not good. It was clear from the lines the pain etched in his face, and once again, Dorian wondered what had broken - both in John as well as in himself. He still couldn't read anything wrong on his friend, but just like with his missing hand, he could tell from observing his partner that his CPU was feeding him wrong signals. He put the bottle close to John so he would find it when he woke up, then turned his attention to the tree and climbed up again. John needed antibiotics, painkillers and god knows what else.

Dorian saw a white object - was that the first aid kit? It had to be, only it was too far away to reach it from where he stood. He tried it from a different angle, but there weren't many options. Another branch was too thin and would break under his weight, he had to get into the wreckage to get to the kit.

It was a dangerous enterprise and Dorian knew all to well that he could fall to his death if this thing took a dive toward the ground. But he didn't ponder on that too long. Cautiously, he put a foot on the bottom plate of the helicopter, which rocked a little. But it held, so Dorian put his other foot in too. He reached out, hooked his fingers behind the first aid kit and carefully pulled it free.

The helicopter moved slightly. Dorian froze but it stayed put and he dared to make his next move. He wedged the kit between two branches and went for his last desired object: clothes, something warm, the blanket if he could find it.

He repeated the same maneuver but had to move a little further - he could see the blanket folded in its plastic cover near the broken joystick and he lowered himself onto his belly. Like a snake, he moved forward, made himself as outstretched and light as possible and…

…the helicopter began to tilt.

Out! Out! Now!

In a flash of a second, Dorian moved back but he felt the helicopter toppling over. The next moment, the heavily damaged whopper crashed down and a second later it landed with a short but loud crack on the forest ground.

… _to be continued …_


	9. Chapter 9

Pt 9

* * *

John awoke from movement near him. Maybe he was dreaming, maybe it was real, he didn't know and he didn't care. He shivered and tried to lick his dry lips with his equally dry tongue. Water… he needed…

Water.

A bottle. Right in front of him.

Expecting it to be a figment of his imagination, he reached out with a sense of defeat and found the cool plastic under his hands to be real. He sat up - way too quickly which made him gasp for air as a white hot stab of pain shot through his body - wrung the cap open with trembling hands and drank. The cool, fresh water was like nectar to his parched mouth. Much too fast, much too much, much too greedily, he should save some, but his dehydrated body screamed for more, as if it had a will of its own.

_Put it down, John. Stop, put it down. Save some for later. PUT. IT. DOWN._

He looked up to see where Dorian had gone. He specifically remembered his partner holding him in a warm grip, which was strange because androids were normally cool - like this plastic bottle, cooler even. But Dorian had been warm and although John had been reluctant at first, he snuggled up to him, and the warmth and his reassuring presence had effect. John had finally succumbed to sleep.

With Dorian gone, John began to lose the warmth he had built up, so he pulled Dorian's jacket a little tighter. Where was his partner?

It didn't take long before he spotted him as a dark figure in the night, climbing up into the tree where the helicopter was hanging. What the hell…

_Dorian, you idiot! _John wanted to shout for Dorian to come down, but he didn't. Instead, he looked breathlessly how his partner ascended, reached the helicopter and cautiously put one foot inside. Even Dorian wouldn't survive if that thing came down, but a few seconds later his partner reappeared and tightly shoved something between a couple of branches. It was too dark to see what it was. Next, he repeated the maneuver. It was hard to see, but John could distinguish him taking another step and then..,

he heard the helicopter squeaking and moaning.

'Dorian, get out!' He meant to shout, to call out to his partner, but his voice simply didn't work anymore. It didn't carry very far, it was the raw whisper of a man who needed medical care on the double.

The next moment, everything happened real fast. The chopper tilted, balanced in the dead zone angle for a second, then came down and smashed onto the ground with a nauseating, loud crack, leaving the remains in a crumpled heap of unrecognizable parts.

'No! Dorian!' John could hardly breathe. _Dorian…_

He scrambled onto his feet and staggered to the fallen sky bird.

'Dorian…' he whispered. The dread he felt gushed over him like an ocean wave. Dorian… dead? Smashed to pieces beyond repair? He could hardly believe it, and yet he had seen it happen in front of his very eyes. His knees buckled. No… Dorian…

He approached the dark mass. 'Dorian… D? Are you there? Talk to me, man.'

But it was quiet. The soft rustle of the rain on the leaves was the only sound, while John feverishly encircled the wreckage, looking for traces of his partner. His mouth turned very dry and this time it had nothing to do with his physical situation. Dorian… He knew he was thinking irrational: Dorian was a machine, not a human. He could and would be replaced by the next DRN if he was damaged beyond repair. John knew it and he told himself in silence that that was all. Why on earth should he get attached to an android? To a piece of machinery that looked like a human but wasn't? A very soft voice deep inside whispered the answers, although he knew them already.

_Because it's Dorian. Because he's okay. Because he's different. Because he's your friend. Your partner._

John's leg protested that the calibration was off. He ignored it, Where was Dorian? If he hadn't been so sore, he would have pushed aside the debris, but he couldn't - he was just too weak. He stepped over a part of a rotor blade and tried to see something in the dark pile on the ground.

'Dorian?! Dorian, are you there?! Buddy? Just holler, will ya?'

'I am here, John.'

For a second, John didn't get where the voice came from and he looked around in confusion.

'Up here,' Dorian's voice came from overhead. There he was, in the tree. 'I'm coming down.'

'Dorian!' John let out a sigh of relief. 'You scared me there for a second, dude.' He faced Dorian, saw that his partner was okay and immediately felt very weak, as if the relief of seeing Dorian alive was enough to sap him of his last reserves. Within seconds, Dorian landed on the mossy ground, clasping a plastic sealed blanket and a dark, small case under his hand-deprived arm. He grabbed John by the elbow. 'Take it easy, man. You don't look so good.'

'I thought you…'

'Come on, let's get you down,' Dorian said kindly and steered John back to his makeshift lair. The detective sat down again, rainwater dripping from his wet hair into his collar. He shivered from head to toe. If Dorian would pull him close the way he had done earlier, John wouldn't protest at all.

Instead, Dorian opened the box, which turned out to be the First Aid kit. Together the men applied a disinfectant spray to the wound in John's leg and sealed it with a bandage. Dorian, who could see a lot better in the dark then John, rummaged in the box and found a syringe, three adrenalin shots and a small package of painkillers. He gave John two pills. 'That should lessen the pain a bit,' he promised.

'What happened up there?' He noticed Dorian's right arm hanging uncooperatively by his side.

'The helicopter shifted. I jumped out and hooked my arm around the tree, but I think the weight of the helicopter pulled my arm from the socket.'

'What? You _held_ the helicopter?'

'No, no, that's impossible John. But I could keep it up just long enough to get out.' Dorian said it matter-of-factly, as if it was totally normal to carry out such a task, while John knew that even a DRN like Dorian or an MX was incapable of that kind of strength. John had no witty reply ready. He just stared at Dorian in disbelief and realized he was so, so happy that Dorian was here and - fairly - unscathed.

Dorian read the information data on a strip of pills and put them back in the kit. Then he unfolded the blanket and wrapped it around John's shoulders. 'You should get some rest.'

'D, listen. I've been thinking about this.' John wheezed as he spoke. He tried to ignore it but every time he took a breath it sounded bad. 'You should go.'

'No,' Dorian said decisively. 'I'm not going to leave you again.'

'Yes you are, and here's why. The black box is completely destroyed. We've been here for hours, much longer than was needed to send a search party. We would have been found by now if the mayday signal had worked. I don't think it did. You can't reach The City, it's likely that the mayday never got there either. I…' he hesitated. It was difficult to admit his own vulnerability. 'I need a hospital. I'm not okay, D.'

'I will carry you,' said Dorian.

'No. I'm not… I'm not carrying material. I'd slow you down and we'd never get there. Besides, you're injured too, how much power have you got left? If you'd carry me, you'd use up your energy quicker and…' He had to stop for a second, well aware of Dorian's scrutinizing eyes. He ran a hand over his forehead, which was sweaty and clam. John knew he was running a fever and he also knew that he couldn't fool Dorian. 'You have to go, alone. Get to The City, get help and pick me up.'

'But…'

'Don't worry, I'll manage.'

'John, no. You're no…

'That's an order, Dorian.'

_To be continued_


	10. Chapter 10

Pt 10

* * *

Once it was clear that John meant what he said, Dorian conceded and the two men made plans on how Dorian should go about. John emphasized that Dorian should not run since that was probably what he had in mind. Which was true, Dorian wanted to get to the city as quick as he could, even if it meant running hours on end. He wouldn't grow tired the way humans did. But John had a point, Dorian's reserves were running low. Next to that, his vessel system was still fragile and it was possible that he would spring new leaks if he would start running. John assumed, probably correctly, that The City was in the east so Dorian had to walk towards the dawn. That was easier said than done, there was no light just yet. It was still raining which made the air dark and difficult to tell where the sun would appear first. The two men gathered that they were approximately 300 kilometers from The City, although that was a rough estimate. There was no telling where they actually were. Dorian was quite convinced that it didn't matter if he walked to the east or the west. There'd be a city on either side and they were somewhere in the middle. It would be a long walk either way. But John insisted he'd go for home base.

The direction turned out to be a problem. Now that Dorian was walking, he had no idea if he was going the right way. He had difficulty pinpointing his location and he could only guess as to where east and west were. He had an inner compass but it didn't work. The initial crash must have damaged it and after the auto shutdown it was still offline. After all Dorian had fallen a long way too. It dawned on Dorian that he'd been pretty banged up, even if he hadn't noticed it at first. Bit by bit his system showed malfunctions, which worried him. How could he rescue John if the android needed rescuing himself?

John was not alright, it was clear to Dorian that his friend was really seriously injured. It still bothered him that he hadn't noticed that before he went after Escott. When he had seen John scurrying around the wreckage of the helicopter from his vantage point in the tree, he could see clearly how difficult it was for John to move and how restricted his movements were. It was also apparent that he was very, very glad to see Dorian alive. He had said something amazing. He had said Dorian was _injured_ too... Injured. As if he was human. Normally people would say that Dorian was damaged or that there were problems in his hardware or software. Not John. He had seen Dorian's arm hanging uselessly from his shoulder and he had noticed that Dorian couldn't do what he normally did and he had called it an _injury_. Somewhere along the line John seemed to have forgotten that Dorian was not a human.

Dorian was touched by this. If John only knew how much this meant to him. The two men had grown closer over time, and the process was still going on. Dorian liked it. John might not be the easiest man to work with, but he was sincere and sound. And that was a rare commodity.

Dorian had left John with pain in his heart. Leaving him behind was probably one of the hardest things Dorian had to do since he was revived and had been reinstalled as an active part of the police force. But John didn't take no for an answer so he banned whatever objections he had from his mind and had started the long walk.

* * *

With a steady pace Dorian walked towards what he assumed was the east. _Use a fixed point of reference in the distance,_ John had said. That was the way humans did it without a compass, so Dorian adopted that method. He kept in mind what John told him: don't run. He had to keep himself in check, which wasn't easy. He had a very unsettling feeling in his stomach that told him that every delay would be bad for John.

He wondered if John would ask further about Escott and what happened, how he came to die. Dorian was equipped with feelings of guilt and remorse, and – much to his own surprise – he felt none of both. He should be feeling something of the kind, but if anything it was _resignation. _Escott was a punk and no one would mourn his demise.

Dorian knew that this was very strange: he was not supposed to pass judgement the way he did now. He wondered if it had to do with John's condition or his own damaged system. How could humans make decisions when they were constantly harassed by feelings of guilt and trouble and sorrow and sadness and at the same time exhilaration and happiness? How did humans manage to separate and control all those emotions and not go crazy?

Perhaps, in a way, Escott had been right. He had compared him to Pinocchio which was of course a ridiculous. Pinocchio was a wooden toy and Dorian was an active member of the police force and had nothing to do with playing children. But Pinocchio wanted to be a real boy and if it was up to Dorian if he had the chance to choose, he might say yes if the possibility existed that he could turn into a real human.

He remembered clearly that John once told him that it was difficult to be human, that people messed with your head, that they got inside your soul and that they screwed up things in a way that made you doubt every decision you made. Now that his own mind was messing with him and feeding him false info, he thought he could imagine more or less what that must be like.

Dorian put one foot in front of the other, keeping his eyes on an apparently immobile dark mass far away. From its shape Dorian assumed it was a mountain peak of some kind and while his mind ran overtime on confusing thoughts about humans and flaws in his own system, the distance between him and John grew at a steady pace.

_to be continued..._


	11. Chapter 11

Pt 11

* * *

John had crawled back in his by nature provided lair, seeking shelter from the rain and the nightly cold under Dorian's jacket and the blanket his partner had gotten him. It wasn't easy to find a comfortable position and it had taken him a long time to relax. Dorian hadn't noticed that John had found his hand and John had forgotten about it. Right now, he was glad that part of Dorian, even though it was of no use, was with him. It gave him a strange sense of comfort and trust that his partner would come back for him. John made himself a promise: he would give Dorian back the hand, no matter what. He was pretty certain that the android would appreciate him guarding it all this time. So, with the hand and the water bottle close, he was curled up on the clammy moss, almost completely covered by the blanket, and tried to relax, tried to ignore the rain, the cold, the dampness and the pain and fever that made him shiver. Dorian would make it, and John would be out of here not too long from now so he just had to hold on. Just a little longer.

When finally he began to drift off, he heard a noise through the mist of the upcoming sleep. Feet shuffling, muffled sounds, leaves rustling, wood cracking.

'It must be here somewhere,' a voice said.

It took a second before the realization kicked in - people! The rescue party! The cobwebs in his head were stubborn and didn't budge. _Move your ass John! Wake up!_

'There,' another voice said. 'That dark thing… wait… yep, this is it. The chopper.'

'Hey!' John croaked but nothing came out, only some dry whisper. He pushed himself up, gasped for air when the pain hit him full and his stomach made a flip. Bile rose, an unpleasant warmth shot through him. '…hey…'

'It's a goddamned police helicopter!'

'What?'

'Yeah man, I'm not kidding. Look here! That's a police number. Part of it, anyways.'

The bobbing sphere of a flashlight moved over the wreck and the forest.

'Fuck. Where d'you think they are?'

'Who?'

'The cops man! Whoever was flying this thing! Escott!'

'I don't know! Stop shouting at me! Maybe he's in there.'

'If he's in that heap, he's dead. No one can survive that.'

'Maybe he's still in there.'

'Suit yourself. I'll take a look around. Fucking rain. Be quick and then let's get the hell out of here.'

Despite his malaise, John understood that those guys weren't part of a rescue party. He squinted his eyes and tried to make out some details in the dark. For once, his poor health might have saved his life. If he had jumped up, he would have walked right into the hands of these two guys who didn't look like they had any plans on helping him. As quietly as he could he reached for his gun, which was luckily just as close as the synthetic hand and the water bottle. He picked it up and took off the safety.

'Holy shit! There's a dead guy here!' Voice one exclaimed.

'A body?' the other called back. He was moving debris and tossed it loudly aside.

'No, an elephant, you stupid! Yes of course a body. I need some light!'

'Is it Escott?'

The ray of light moved quickly and then came to a halt.

'Looks like the pilot. He's got these marks on his suit.'

'Search him. Maybe he's got cash. Or smokes. Or something. A gun.'

'No gun, but he's wearing a holster.'

Dorian had Jamieson's gun. In the swamp he had lost his own and he hadn't told John where it was or how it happened, but he hadn't objected when John told him to use Jamieson's sidearm. He should not be here unarmed.

Those two guys might sound stupid, but they weren't. The light went up again and the person holding the flashlight, moved it slowly over the bushes and the trees.

'Come over here,' he said. 'Look at this.'

'What's that?'

'I think it's a reservoir. A container for water. Look, there're more of them.'

John froze when he heard a gun being cocked.

'The pilot is dead. Somebody put up these things to catch water.'

'You don't do that for a dead guy. And you don't do that if you're planning to leave,' said the other.

'Exactly. Maybe there's someone still here.'

Their tone changed and they turned from guys who were busy looting, to thugs on their guard. John knew he was in trouble - he had heard them mentioning Rave Escott's name and they wouldn't take kindly toward him if they found him. He fought the urge to pull back even further. Movement would draw their attention even quicker.

Another gun clicked. The voices were a lot softer now, and John could no longer listen in on them. The two apparently split up. One to the right, the other to the left. John could hear their soft footsteps, but they treaded slowly and carefully now. Number one approached slowly.

John had been cursing the rain but just like his injury, this time it seemed to be to his advantage. The guy stood only inches from him but he didn't see John's hideout, mainly because of the rain and the occasional breeze. John saw the guy's feet, so close that he could touch them if he stretched out his arm. He breathed as lightly and quietly as he could, which took enormous effort. He knew he wheezed, he couldn't make any sound now that the guy was so close.

But then the feet turned and number one moved further. Slowly, gun probably still poised, but John dared to let go a bit of the breath he was holding.

'_Synthetic calibration required. Energy level at 21 percent.'_ The female voice sounded like a gunshot in the nighttime forest.

Number one shouted, number two screamed and gunfire echoed through the forest. John heard a yelp and wasn't sure if it was his own voice or one of the perps he had hit.

'Fuck! Jesse! Jesse!' screamed the higher pitched voice, scared and shocked. Number two! He was still…

Before John had time to think, the barrel of the gun in number two's hand lit up and bullets came flying in and hit the trees and the foliage around him.

John fired three rapid shots. Which one hit number two he didn't know, but the firing stopped, he heard a thud and it turned quiet.

John pushed the leaves aside. Not far from him was the first perp, staring lifelessly into the darkness, the night reflected in his still watering eyes. Number two was face down in the mud, his legs involuntarily twitching. John had to get up to see if that guy meant any more danger to him, but something was wrong. Definitely. Warm blood ran in his eye, a unpleasant tingling sensation spread through his head and he couldn't stop himself from sagging down, back onto the damp blanket. In a last act of despair, he blindly searched for Dorian's hand and when he found it, intertwined his fingers with the synthetic ones.

_I'm sorry, D. I promised I'd bring your hand back, but it's not gonna happen. I didn't plan on getting shot but…_

The soles of the shaking shoes of the gunned down man were the last thing John saw before the lights went out.

* * *

_to be continued…_


	12. Chapter 12

Pt 12

* * *

Dorian walked with a steady pace of exactly 22 kilometers and 731 meters per hour. Much faster than an average human, but not very impressive for an android. He had however noticed that this pace was the most energy efficient of all, so despite the urge of wanting to go faster, he didn't increase his speed. John's words stuck to him like glue: you get farther if you economize. And if there was any saving John, even the slightest advantage could make the difference.

At this speed he would be walking for 13 hours and 19 minutes to span a distance of 300 kilometers. That implied that John had to get through on his own, for half a day at least. Dorian had serious concerns and tried to ignore the feeling that got stronger as the distance between him and his partner grew.

_What if I don't make it? What if I fail and my system goes down, before I reach a safe zone in which I will be found? And even then - what happens if someone finds me? How will they know where to look and what or who to look for?_

He stopped dead in his track. The rain never stopped but dawn was breaking and the darkness of the sky began to show light streaks, confirming that indeed he walked east, which was a hopeful prospect. He scanned the area as far as he could, but still he didn't see any sign of a city anywhere in the distance. Around him, the ground was flat as a pancake and barren as a brick. Nothing lived here. Dorian scanned the surface of the direct area around him - no traces of animals, just a few bugs, but that was all. Not even mice, rabbits or bird droppings here. Seemed very unlikely he'd run into humans anywhere, this was no place for anyone in his sane mind to live. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing - no hiding place, no trees, no water wells, just plain flatness. Not even boulders to hide behind or a dried bushes to use for a fire.

Every now and then he had come across tyre tracks, roughly imprinted in the mud. In other spots he had seen traces of oil and fuel residue, shiny like mother-of-pearl. That implied cars in this area, all-terrain vehicles perhaps, but to whom they belonged or who was driving them, was unknown. Police patrols didn't come out this far, which could only lead to the conclusion that the tracks were coming from the parties that lived outside The City. Groups of people who didn't take kindly to the law in general and police in particular.

Dorian took his mind of perps and tribes and focused on the task at hand. What bothered him was that he had a scenario in mind that might very well become reality: what if he ran out of energy before he reached The City and his system shut down? By the time he would be fully charged and he would open his eyes, hours would have gone by and all that time John was without help. Dorian needed to think of a way to bring the message home, even if he was turned off or shut down.

He scanned his memory banks for a solution, but found nothing. How did humans do this? How would John pass the message if he was in Dorian's position? The android racked his brains. Each time he tried to think of a logical approach, he discarded the idea seconds later. Somehow nothing seemed to make sense, or what did sound good was too hard to do. Yeah sure, write down a message. That was one of the tips he found. Write? With what? Dorian knew how a felt-tip pen worked but he had never used any pens at all. He didn't carry them and was pretty sure that John didn't either. Pens were memorabilia from the early twenties and hardly ever in use.

'_Energy level at sixteen percent. Please proceed to nearest docking station for recharging.' _His system warned him. Dorian picked up the pace. The hell with caution and savings. He had to get to town - now!

'_Warning. Systems malfunction eminent. Replace fluid compartment ES/TY-3C as soon as possible.' _

No, no, no, no… Not now! If only he could reach the satellite zone of The City. He only needed one brief message to be picked up. _Officer down, help needed. _Around him, the ground could not longer soak up the rain and the water formed pools and muddy puddles everywhere. Mud splattered up when Dorian stepped into them, but he didn't notice. Knowing very well he was playing it dangerously, he began his broadcast. He ran, faster and faster, using up more of his quickly depleting energy sources but he couldn't care less. The only thing he could think of was John. He _had _to find a way to get a message across. Dorian knew all too well by now that he wouldn't make it, but if The City picked up his mayday, he'd…

From one second onto the other, he stopped running. He looked down, saw his boots covered in thick, dark mud and finally, he had the answer. He bent over and dipped his fingertips in the puddle he was standing in.

'_Energy level at four percent. Please proceed to nearest docking station for recharging. Prepare for auto-shutdown.'_

'Shut up!' Dorian suddenly shouted in frustration. 'I know!'

He did a final check. The distress signal had been on ever since he left John, it was still working. It would be the last thing that would shut down. He ran, faster and harder than he had ever done on the remains of his batteries. The last thing he was aware of, was the voice telling him the auto shutdown sequence had started. 

_To be continued…_


	13. Chapter 13

Pt 13a

* * *

'Over here! We've got him! He's alive! Get the stretcher here, on the double!'

'Sir? Detective Kennex? Can you hear me? Sir? Detective Kennex?!'

'John, it's me, Sandra. If you can hear me, squeeze my hand. John, we gonna get you out of here.'

'Hurry up! He's in a bad way!'

…_Dorian…_

'John, can you hear me? Come on, let me see those eyes.'

…_Where's…_

'You're safe now. It's okay.'

'Excuse me, Captain. Paramedics. Let us through. Sir? Can you hear me, sir?'

…_Hand… Dorian… D…_

'Pupils are responding. Head injury, deep laceration to left femur, multiple internal injuries, possible fractures and internal bleeding. Pulse is weak, bp 70 over 30. Let's get him to the hospital, people! Move!'

'Hold on John. I'm coming with you. Hang in there, okay?'

…_D… where's…D…_

'Lift on three. One - two - three.'

… _Owww… gawd…_

'Move! Go, go, go!'

'Captain? Look at this. Isn't that…?'

* * *

Pt 13b

* * *

A female doctor and a nurse stepped out of a room with light green doors. Dorian jumped up from the chair and blocked the physician's way. 'How is he, doctor?'

The doctor frowned, irritated by Dorian's manner. 'Discussing patients with androids is not…'

'I need to know,' Dorian said. 'He's my friend. He's important to me.'

The doctor seemed unimpressed, and answered Dorian's pleading look with a cold glare. 'I don't like DRN's. You are not to interrupt a superior while talking.'

'I apologize. My partner and I have been through a lot. I would be very grateful if you could update me on his status.'

'That is confidential information,' the doctor said, apparently unwilling to help Dorian.

'Once again, I am sorry if I have offended you. My behavior is caused by the worry for my friend.'

'I am not in the habit to discuss my patients while standing in the hallway. And certainly not with a _robot._'

'I am sorry, doctor,' Dorian repeated and stubbornly asked again: 'How is Detective Kennex?'

'Get out of my way,' said the doctor coldly. She gestured him to the side but Dorian didn't do what she expected and stood his ground. 'Your behavior is typical DRN,' the doctor scoffed. 'Unpredictable. Unreliable. You should be decommissioned.'

'Can I see him?' Dorian asked. 'Now?'

The doctor gritted her teeth.

'Please answer my question,' Dorian said politely.

'No. And if I hear one more word from you, I will have security escort you from the premises,' she snapped. 'You will leave this hallway now and wait in the waiting room.'

Dorian was still a bit wobbly. He'd been given new parts, he had a new hand, his shoulder joint had been repaired and he was fully charged. Yet, he still felt a little out of the ordinary. As if he needed adjusting to all the new stuff in his body. Maybe that was why he was a bit cranky, perhaps.

'Bite me,' he said in good John Kennex fashion.

He turned on his heels and marched into John's room without paying attention to the dumbfounded woman in the hallway. He was aware she could call security and he'd be thrown out of the hospital by force, but he closed the door behind him, locked it and approached the man in the bed carefully.

John was asleep. He still looked ghastly pale, but his face was calm and at ease. A bag of blood and several other IV's provided him with the necessary substances to get well again. Quickly, Dorian checked the monitor's readings. Blood pressure, O2 sat and pulse all looked stable.

Very softly, Dorian put his hand on John's forehead. He was warm but not so feverish anymore.

'…get y'r hand off my…'

'John? You're awake!'

'No. I'm not.'

'You're grumpy. That means you're getting better,' Dorian said with a smile. 'Welcome back.'

'Yeah yeah. What was that all about?'

'Pardon?'

'You and that bitchy doctor. Outside.'

'We were just… exchanging information,' Dorian said flatly but with a sparkle in his eyes.

'Yeah. Right. You're all fixed up again?'

'Great. New parts, fully functional again. Just some minor adjustments and a calibration to run.'

'Yeah. Same here. Almost.'

Dorian read John's digital chart. 'Four broken ribs and a collapsed lung. Concussion. Severe blood loss. Spleen is…'

'Stop it, D. I don't need to hear all that.'

'Sorry John. You'll be alright, you're in good hands now.'

'Ya think?'

John was so quiet for such a long time that Dorian thought he'd fallen asleep again.

And then: 'Thanks Dorian.'

'For what?'

'For coming back for me. Getting help.'

'You're welcome. Rudy picked up the mayday, he was on a constant lookout,' Dorian said, thinking about the signal booster that Rudy had built especially to track down John and Dorian. 'I can't take all the credits.'

'Rudy said you wrote information about the crash and the site on your breast plate.'

'And about your condition. Yes, I did.'

'Good thinking. Using mud as ink.'

Dorian smiled. The mud, mixed with oil and fuel, had been dark as tar, greasy and stuck to his synthetic skin like glue. Writing down whatever he could as a journal for those who would find him, turned out to be an excellent idea. Not long after his system shut down, he'd been found and the information on his breast plate was discovered almost instantly. The rescue party picked up John while Dorian was in stasis.

'You're gonna make a great boy scout some day, D.' John smiled too, weary and pale, but clearly pleased with Dorian. Dorian put John's leg, renewed, recharged and ready to go, up against the wall.

'The two men you shot at the crash site have been identified as Jesse Gordon and Brian Wilbertson. They disappeared twelve years ago and were believed to live behind the wall. Wilbertson had an older brother who's in Parker's Correctional Facility. That might have been their connection to Escott.'

Dorian paused to let the information sink in. He could tell how little energy John had and decided it was enough for now.'You should get some rest. I will leave,' he said.

'D… what happened to him? To Escott?' John asked, with remarkable clarity of mind.

For a few seconds, Dorian thought about the right answer. 'He drowned in a mud hole and died.'

'Right.' John's brows furrowed. 'I see.'

'Get some sleep, John. We'll talk another time.'

'D… wait… your hand… I tried to bring it back to you but… I lost it…'

'On the contrary,' said Dorian, walked over a wall screen and tapped it. He showed John a photo the android's hand, covered in grass, dirt and - with a hole in it.'You used my hand to divert a bullet, apparently. If you hadn't, you wouldn't be here.'

'…what?'

'According to ballistics, the bullet that grazed your head, would have hit you right between the eyes, if it hadn't ricocheted off my hand. Saved your life.'

'Your hand.' John blinked, very tired.

'Yeah, my hand.'

'You saved my life.'

'Thanks for holding on to it. I've asked Rudy to leave it as it is. I would like to keep it.'

'You have a weird sense of collecting souvenirs,' John mumbled. His eyelids were drooping. 'Dorian, the crash… was it sabotage?'

'That is unknown. There's a transmission that indicates that the helicopter was shot down, but there's no evidence to substantiate it. Jesse Gordon and Brian Wilbertson could have been behind it, but that's unclear too. Since they're both dead, it will probably remain unsolved. John?'

There was no answer. John had fallen asleep, exhausted still from the ordeal he'd been through.

Affectionately, Dorian straightened the blankets, stroked John's hair once and after a last look on his partner, left.

Dorian had been surprised, honored and even a bit emotional when he had heard how John had held on to his hand. It was pure luck that the android's hand had turned out to be a lifesaver.

Once again, this proved what Dorian had discovered a while back: that John, though damaged, seemed grumpy and surly, but under that hard shell was a caring and gentle man.

The android walked outside and got into the police car that was waiting to bring him back to the station. It was over. In a few weeks time, John would be back and they would be partnered up again as usual. It was true what he heard: people grew closer under poor circumstances. If anything, the crash had shown him exactly that.

FIN

* * *

_This is the end of The Crash, a story about evolving friendship between a man and a machine. Thanks all for reading, and for being patient when the story came along a bit slow from time to time. Please feel free to comment or mail me. _


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